


Far From Any Road

by jawsandbones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biker AU, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Guns, Gunshot Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern-era re-imagining of an established Fenris and Hawke. Bounty hunters working for Guard-Captain Aveline, they spend most of their time riding around the Free Marches and doing what they please. Receiving word on the White Lily Killer, they track him back to Kirkwall and back to his gang - the Blood Mages.<br/>-<br/>They both look at the gun on Gascard’s bedside table at the same time. Gascard reaches for it, his hand outstretched, and the glass makes a small cracking noise as the bullet fires through the window. Gascard screams, now missing his middle and index finger, while Hawke is laughing in the ear piece. “He’ll be feeling that for a while,” she says as she reloads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“He’s headed south for sure. Gotta use the payphone, check an address but – ah, _Maker_ Fenris – he’s headed back to his gang, I can feel it. _Mmm_ , you make it hard to think.”

“I thought you said we were stopping here to fuck, not to think,” he grumbles out, one hand on her hip, the other squeezing at her shoulder as he continues to thrust into her. She bites her lip, but that does nothing to stop the moan. Both of her hands are squeezing the top of the stall, pants around her ankles, grinding her ass backwards into him. He gives her an appreciative smack on her rump and her cunt clenches around him in return.

“We’ve been on that bike for hours, my lady parts feel like jelly.”

“Feels just fine to me.”

“’Just _fine_ ’?”

“You feel fucking amazing, I love your tight little cunt,” he growls.

“Mmm, that’s _much_ better.” The bathroom stall rattles as they fuck, Hawke pushing against it with her fists, tapping out her pleasure. She gasps, looking as much as she can over her shoulder at Fenris, whose eyes are closed and head thrown back. His mouth is open slightly, breathing heavily as he pumps inside of her. The view of him so lost, so lost in her, is all it takes to drive Hawke to come. Her legs shake beneath her, weak and distracted, leaving Fenris to hold her up.

He comes swiftly after her, groaning as he does, his hands bruising into her hips. She’s panting, giving him a grin as he slips out of her, removing the condom, tying it up and throwing it into the toilet. She cleans herself swiftly before pulling up her jeans, her hands on Fenris’s belt, buckling it for him. She gives him a kiss, a finger at his chin, before unlocking the stall. She adjusts her hair in the mirror, the light above flickering on and off.

They wash their hands together, sharing the meager soap of the truck stop, before finally leaving. She stretches out in the sun, her hands above her head, and the barest line of her midriff is showing as her t-shirt stretches with her. Fenris is putting the gloves back onto his hands, squinting in the light. “Payphone, left,” he says, using his head to point in the direction for her. He makes his way back to the bike, sitting on it as he waits for her.

She moves through the parking lot, past bike and truck, people upon people, to the run down payphone. Who uses payphones these days anyway? She pops coin into the slot, her finger dialing a practiced number. “Hello? Who is this?” The voice on the other end is gruff, annoyed, and makes Hawke laugh.

“It’s me, Varric,” she says, her arm over the phone, smiling as she watches Fenris scratch the back of his head, playing with the strands of white hair that fall in front of his face. He’d be wanting a haircut soon.

“Maker’s balls, you know I hate unknown callers. Did you lose your phone again?” Varric says, and Hawke can hear him adjusting papers through the receiver.

“It was an accident, I swear,” she says, playing with the cord of the phone. Numbers cover the phone box, with small descriptions underneath each one. _Great ass_ , or _best tits_. Even _makes amazing gingerbread_.

“I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”

“Always. What do you need?”

“Address. Gascard DuPuis. One of the Blood Mages near where we are. I have some questions I want to ask him.”

“Is this about the White Lily Killer? That bounty Aveline sent you?”

“Why yes, it is.”

“Hmm,” more papers being shuffled. “I’ll find it. But, just be careful with this one kiddo.”

“I’m always careful!” Hawke fakes indignation, but she smiles at his concern. Fenris watches as she paces, laughing, and her foot kicking at the ground. She pulls a notepad from her jacket pocket, along with a well-chewed pen, and scrawls something onto it, her tongue between her teeth as she writes. She shoves them both into her pocket, spending a few moments more talking genially with Varric. She hangs up with the laugh still on her lips, smiling as she makes her way back to Fenris.

He passes her the helmet, which she straps beneath her chin, and she settles herself onto the bike behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She shows him the notepad, enough for him to memorize the address and figure out where they’re going. The engine is warm, rumbling beneath her, and she holds on a little tighter once he kicks off. His movements are always comfortable and confident, and she feels safer at his back than she does anywhere else.

They ride for most of the afternoon, the sun setting in the distance before them, before they finally arrive close to the address. They park at the diner across from his house, dismounting and watching the shadowy figures in the light behind Gascard’s curtains. Not a wasted trip then – he was home. The neon diner lights flicker softly onto the parking lot, onto them, and they hold hands when they walk inside. It’s a quaint place, a stop before bigger and better things, but it doesn’t stop them from ordering coffee and a plate of waffles to share.

The street they’re on is run-down, half the street-lights broken and dark. Gascard’s home is more of the same, crumbling and unkempt, the curtains stained and dirty. Hawke sips at her coffee while Fenris tears into the waffles, drowning them in the cheap syrup the waitress provided. “He has company,” Hawke says quietly, watching the figures shift through the window. Fenris looks up, peering out the window, and shrugs.

“One more person will not make a difference,” he says. Hawke puts her cup down, stealing the fork from his hand and devouring the waffles he had readied before handing it back to him. She links her hands together, elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands and watching intently out the window. She’s examining every angle, squinting to see behind the house, looking at every exit route.

“There’s a building behind I can set up from,” she says, while Fenris pushes the plate of waffles towards her, wiping his mouth with a napkin. She takes a few small bites, before brushing syrup from her lips with her thumb. They leave a large amount of coin, more than enough for food and service, generous with their tip. Hawke sways on her feet by the bike, Fenris pawing through one of the many large bags that hang over the back.

Finally, he pulls a case from a bag, passing one ear piece to her and keeping the other for himself. He tunes the radios to each other, clipping one onto his belt. He grabs her by the hips, planting a kiss on her neck as he clips the other radio to her. He’s satisfied when he can hear her softly laughing through the ear piece, as his hands brush against her stomach, leaving a small mark on her neck. She turns, her hands on his face, kissing him deeply. “Be safe. I’ll let you know when I’m ready,” she says, shouldering another large bag.

She crosses the street quickly, weaving through backyards and hopping over fences. She climbs the ladder of the closed convenience store, dumping the bag at the top. She pulls the pieces of her rifle from her bag, setting it up with practiced ease. She lies down on her stomach, the butt of the rifle against her cheek, closing one eye as she peers through the scope. Fenris hears her laugh after a moment, breathy in the earpiece. “It’s paid company,” she says, before shaking her head with a grin and returning to focus. “I’m ready.” He pulls his gun from another bag, tucking it into holster under his leather jacket before crossing the street.

He stands in front of Gascard’s house, listening to Hawke’s running commentary. “Oh Maker what is he even doing with his tongue. He’s wagging it like a damn dog. She looks so grossed out – haha – if not for the money, I bet she’d be out of there in a second.” Fenris smiles and rolls his eyes, shaking his head as she continues. It’s an easy thing, one good heave on the doorknob and it breaks, allowing Fenris to enter without much difficulty. The house looks like a hoarder’s dream, filled with boxes and clothing, floor strewn with dirt and paper.

The pistol is in his hands as he moves. “Bedroom is to the left of you, the very end. Please get in there before he gets his dick out. I do not want to see that.” He suppresses a snort of amusement as he stands outside the bedroom door. He can hear the prostitute moaning – the fakest of moans he’s ever heard – with Gascard saying something, muffled and with an Orlesian accent. He boots open the door, the prostitute screaming and reaching for a blanket to cover herself, falling to the floor beside the bed.

Gascard is scrambling while Fenris yells, “don’t move!” The gun pointed at Gascard’s chest. The prostitute quickly grabs Gascard’s wallet before making a run for it, past Fenris and out the door. Gascard is shirtless, his arms in the air, kneeling on the bed. They both look at the gun on Gascard’s bedside table at the same time. Gascard reaches for it, his hand outstretched, and the glass makes a small cracking noise as the bullet fires through the window. Gascard screams, now missing his middle and index finger, while Hawke is laughing in the ear piece.

“He’ll be feeling that for a while,” she says as she reloads. Fenris takes the gun from the table, tucking it into his belt, and turns back to Gascard. He’s hunched over on the bed, sweating profusely, blood pouring from his hand.

“Is Quentin headed back to the Blood Mages?” Fenris asks gruffly, while Gascard curses.

“I don’t know you fucking knife-ear! I left the Blood Mages! A long time ago!”

“Quentin is your mentor. We know you’re still in contact with him. Where is he?” Fenris hisses, moving forward, “or the next bullet will remove more than just fingers.”

“Maker! Fine! Last I heard he was headed toward the main branch. He wants to make the case to be head of the Blood Mages. In Kirkwall!”

“I knew it. I told you! I knew it!” Hawke’s voice cackles into his ear.

“Address. Now.” Gascard spits it out, Fenris making him repeat it twice before Hawke assures him that she has it written down. At that, Fenris strikes him hard across the head, watching as Gascard folds into an unconscious heap. “We’ll probably need to call him an ambulance,” Fenris says to empty air.

“Right, right. I’m on it.” Fenris sighs as he tucks his own gun away, before grabbing a sheet from the bed and wrapping it tightly around Gascard’s hand. It would be enough for the moment. Hawke meets him at the bike, hunching under the weight of the bag on her back. Fenris stows both guns inside the bag after removing the ammo, the ear pieces following suit. He hooks it back onto the back of the bike, before they ride off in search of a motel.

Hawke books a room for them while Fenris hauls their bags inside – all their possessions, able to fit inside a few bags. He showers first, while Hawke waits on the bed, her fingers linked over her belly, her feet on the floor and her eyes closed. He lies down beside her, the towel wrapped around his waist, brushing a strand of hair from her face to rouse her. She smiles up at him, reaching to rub the tip of his pointed ear between her fingers. She sighs happily as she sheds clothing that smells of sweat and gasoline, a veritable trail as she heads for the bathroom.

When she emerges, wet and clean, one towel wrapped around her and the other in her hands as she dries her hair, she sighs as she leans against the table across from the bed. Fenris has a book in his hands, a cigarette in his mouth, and he studies her carefully as she shifts against where she is leaning, her legs glistening and gorgeous. “It’ll be strange, I think, going back to Kirkwall. We haven’t been back in ages. It’ll be nice to see everyone again though,” she says as she rubs the towel against wet strands.

He takes a drag before replying, folding the corner of the page before shoving the book away. “No doubt they will be wanting to take us to the Hanged Man. They’ll make you drink enough for three people again,” he says while she throws back her head and laughs, the knot of the towel around her slipping. She catches it, the barest pink of her nipple showing above the white.

“I can drink you under the table and you know it,” she says with a greedy smile, watching as he adjusts himself on the bed. She drags the towel down lower, his eyes following her every movement. She runs her hands over her breasts, dragging the towel down, watching as the bulge appears under Fenris’s towel. He undoes the knot swiftly, baring himself for her, stroking at his stiffening cock. She watches him run his hands up and down his length, fingers tight, growing even harder as she lets the towel fall to the floor.

His hand continues to stroke, even harder, as he watches her pinch her nipples for him, rolling her breast in her hand. She sits back against the table, spreading her legs for him, dipping fingers into her folds. She moans, breasts heaving slightly as her breath quickens, a finger rubbing at her clit. “Come here,” he growls. She does as he commands, kneeling on the bed, crawling towards him until her hands are on his shoulders, straddling him.

“That’s a bad habit,” she says, stealing the cigarette from his mouth and taking a drag, before extinguishing it in the ashtray on the nightstand.

“Just like you,” he growls, a hand cupping her ass and his mouth at her breasts.

“I’m the best thing you’ve ever had and you know it,” she groans as his tongue finds a nipple, biting at it gently, before sucking at it. His hand moves downwards to the wet between her legs, rubbing gently at her clit, fingers pressing against her entrance. She grinds into his touch, fingers digging into his shoulders as she writhes.

One of her hands moves downwards, her forehead replacing her hand as she reaches for his cock. She finds it hard and wanting, wrapping her hand around it and giving it a few teasing pumps. She aligns her entrance with him, rubbing the head of his cock against her. She moves kisses from shoulder to neck, running her tongue from earlobe to tip. She sucks at that pointed end, feeling his hands tighten and shake on her.

She presses herself down slowly, her toes digging into the bedsheets, his hands tight around her hips. He groans when he’s inside her fully, her cunt tight against him, walls moving in time to beat with her pulse. He slides his hands up her back as she moves, head back and mouth open as she begins to roll her hips. He thrusts up into her, moving his hips in time with hers, making her cry out and call his name. He wraps an arm around her waist and flips them, her raven hair spreading out around her like a halo.

She clings to him desperately, hands scrabbling at his back and shoulders. His tongue finds its way to her neck, her breast, and finally to circle a pert nipple. A hand winds into his hair, pressing his face against her as he sucks, unceasing in his assault upon her body. His hands grab at her ass to hold her in place, skin slapping against skin. He kisses her again when she asks for it, and he watches as she shakes with each heavy thrust.

She has her hands in her own hair now, crying out his name as he presses a finger to the nub at her entrance. She is close, he can feel it, and he knows all the signs. Her breath comes faster, her mouth opening wide with soundless gasps, and her hands clench into fists. He presses insistently, and thrusts inside her with fervor. He whispers her name and tells her how good she feels and that is all it takes for her to shout as her body is wracked with waves of pleasure.

She tightens around his cock, wave after wave crashing into him, and her body writhes and rises off the bed. He bends down to her, an arm wrapping around her waist as he slams inside her with urgency. It never takes long for him after she comes. The sight of her moving so beautifully for him always does him in. He grunts with the effort of it, forehead pressing against her shoulder and fingers digging into skin as he slips free and spills his cum onto her belly.

She props herself up on her elbows as he kneels back, the both of them grinning at each other. She moves from the bed nimbly, to the bathroom, leaving Fenris to stretch by himself, reaching for his discarded towel to clean himself off. She returns with a smile, practically leaping into his arms. He catches her and holds her tight, her head against his chest. His fingers play with strands of her hair, dotting small figures on her shoulder.

“We’ll have to leave early,” he says, “if we want to make it to Kirkwall before nightfall.”

“We can split it into two days,” she says sleepily, “I want waffles again.”


	2. Chapter 2

She sits cross-legged on the bed, her elbow on her knee as she pours over the map. Her finger tracks different roads, different ways to get into Kirkwall. Fenris pulls the shirt over his head as he moves to join her on the bed. He sits behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I think,” she says as she points at a certain road, “We should take this one. It’ll be the quickest.”

“I would assume,” he says as he reaches to point at a different road, “that the most direct route would be more efficient.” His hand drops back to her waist, his fingers fiddling with the bottom of her shirt. Fenris kisses her shoulder as she shakes her head.

“That road is always under construction. It’ll be a mess. It’ll take us way longer.”

“If you’re sure.” She looks back at him, amused, a sly smile on her face.

“Why, Serah Fenris, it almost sounds like you’re questioning my good judgement.” He gives her nipple a sharp pinch in return for her sass, making her cry out in surprise. She flips over, the map flying off the bed as she plants her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down to the bed. His hands travel up her thighs, resting tight around her hips. Hawke cocks her head at him and grins.

“Careful lover, or this trip will take even longer.” He turns them quickly and easily, pinning her beneath him. He covers her eyes with his hand, tracking a trail of kisses down the line of her jaw. His free hand travels ever downward, to the waist band of her shorts, fingertips just barely reaching inside. He moves his hand across her belly carefully, sucking at her neck. His hand dips lower, almost there… and then moves away.

“You’re right,” he whispers into her ear, “we should get moving.” He keeps his hand over her eyes even as one of her hands fly up, pinching at the tip of his ear.

“You are the worst, most insufferable man I have ever met!” She complains as he softly laughs. His hand dips back down, and he watches with a smile as her mouth opens in a gasp. His fingers work nimbly at her clit, touching her in the way he knows she likes just _there_ , like _that_ , making her moan. Her hand shakes on his shoulder, her feet pushing into the bed as he presses a finger against her entrance. He keeps it there for a few moment, before finally pushing inside, making her back arch off the bed.

His hand moves from her face, revealing eyes half-lidded, and kisses her deeply, Hawke wholly receptive. He twists to pull her shorts and underwear down, the both of them hanging off one ankle as he repositions himself. She has her own hands at his boxers, pulling them down with urgency, until she can grip his ass. He lowers himself down, feeling her slick on the underside of his cock as they grind against each other. She winds a hand onto his hair, hot breath on his ear as she breathes.

She flips herself, rising on hands and knees, looking over her shoulder as much as she can at him. He runs a hand up and down, to the underside of her thighs and the curve of her back, up and down again, running a finger through dripping folds. She shakes at that, her back arching even more into his touch. Her breasts hang heavy underneath her and when he slaps her ass, he can see them shake. He squeezes at the red handprint, and revels in her groans. “Ah – Fenris, please,” she murmurs, voice hoarse from need.

He takes his cock in hand, running it over her folds, pressing it at her entrance but never quite giving her what she wants. She grinds her ass backwards, desperately trying to bury him deep inside her flesh. He presses himself just so, the barest piercing into her cunt. He fucks her in earnest, her ass slapping against him as he moves. Her breasts shake with each thrust, a moan puncturing each snap of his hips. His fingertips bruise into her, adding more marks to the ones already there. He pulls at her hips, keeping her level for him.

She turns and pushes him down to the bed, her hand on his chest as she lowers herself down upon his cock, gasping as she begins to move. Her hips grind against him and she pulls one of his hands to her waist. He grips her tightly as she bounces on his dick, her breasts swaying above him. Her fingers dig into his chest as she moves, mouth open and eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of his cock inside her, filling her up. “Maker, Fen!” He growls at that, holding onto her that much tighter, his own hips thrusting upwards in need. She laughs, suddenly, and stops moving, falling onto the bed beside him.

She’s on her stomach, legs pressed together, arms crossed underneath the pillow as she smiles at him. “We really should go.” His cock aches for her and the sudden loss. It’s throbbing, angry and red, desperate for release. She doesn’t move as he positions himself over her, slapping at the roundness of her ass. It’s difficult this way, to press himself inside of her. He pulls her hips up only slightly to help him, as he sinks all the way into her cunt.

She groans into her pillow at the feeling, fists wound into the bedsheets as he drops himself over her. Their legs are tightly pressed against each other, his chest on her back, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder as he begins to move his hips, rutting against her. He hits deep, and she shudders and shakes as she feels him move. A hand makes its way underneath her, to rub at that nub of flesh that makes her cry out.

When she comes, she’s even tighter, and he bites at her shoulder to show his appreciation for the feeling. She calls his name in a stuttering wail, clenching at the waves of pleasure which run through her. He follows soon after, pulling from her and spurting cum onto her back. He reaches for the towel, cleaning her gently, until he can kiss her shoulders, his hair brushing up against her skin.

They dress in the same manner, pulling on jeans and shirts while stealing glances with each other, shrugging on their jackets while Hawke smiles, and Fenris grins. They gather up their things into their bags, collecting garbage and making the bed. They leave a generous tip for the cleaning crew, before loading up the motorcycle.

Fenris is at home here, with Hawke at his back and the bike just an extension of himself. He can feel Hawke’s fingers playing with his jacket, the heat of the engine by his leg, the sound of the wind as they speed by. Driving is second nature to him now, an instinct, able to react without a second thought. The trip back to Kirkwall is quiet, monotonous, and familiar. He knows Hawke’s fidgeting is excitement and nervousness mixed into one, eager to be home.

Hawke’s hand shakes when she puts the key into the lock, pushing open the door to her home. It’s dark, and when the light flickers on, Fenris laughs at the deep sigh she gives. It’s dusty, smelling of stale air, with cobwebs hanging on every corner. “Mom would kill me if she knew I left the house like this,” Hawke says as she kicks off her boots. She removes the sheet from the couch, throwing it hastily to the floor before sinking down into the cushions.

“I won’t tell,” Fenris says as he sits down beside her. She takes the opportunity to flop over, her head in his lap. He tucks hair behind her ear, resting his hand on her arm.

“How are we going to get Quentin? We can’t just stroll into Darktown and take him, can we?” she asks, turning onto her back and looking up at him. “Can we?”

“Are you suggesting we storm the Blood Mages keep?”

“Nooo?” Hawke gives him a toothy grin as she shrugs.

“We’ll watch their hideout, identify Quentin and follow him. We’ll learn his schedule and find a point of weakness,” Fenris tells her as he tweaks her nose.

“Awe, but that takes so long.”

"You would think that by now, you’d have learned some patience,” he says with a smile. She sits up with mock offence, turning to straddle him.

“Hey now, I am plenty patient,” she murmurs, rubbing her nose against his. She runs her hand through his hair as he wraps his arms around her, closing her eyes as she scratches his head, pressing her forehead against his.

* * *

Hawke pulls the cap low, leaning against the wall of the Blood Mages’ hideout. She crosses her arms, fiddling with spare coin she found in her pocket. Her hair covers the ear piece, Fenris sitting at a café just down the street. When the bar, their hideout, begins to clear out, Hawke straightens, peering at them from under her hat. “The tall one. Grey hair. White lily on his jacket. Looks like a creep,” Fenris says, making Hawke hide a smirk as she scans those leaving. Locating him, she keeps a respectful distance as she follows. Fenris follows even further behind, keeping an eye on Hawke more than anything else. His white hair and tattoos stand out too much to be the primary, well, stalker.

For days they watch him as Quentin goes about doing mundane tasks. Hawke scrutinizes the groceries he buys, the places he visits, and the people he meets. Not once did he look over his shoulder. He had evaded capture for so long, this murderer, and here he was feeding goddamn pigeons like an old codger. Hawke banged her head against the tree as she watched him. Something wasn’t right.

She sets up on the roof of the restaurant by his house, peering through the scope into his dark home. No movement. No shapes. Nothing in any of the windows she could see. What she could see was Fenris pacing back and forth on the other side of the street. She chuckles at his hunched walk, the hands stuffed in his pockets. She smirks as she speaks. “This is boring, I’d rather be down there with you so that I could su- _chhzzkk_.” The kick hits her square in the side of the head, sending her rolling, with a hand to her head. Her gun goes tumbling off the rooftop, into the bushes below. She grimaces as she looks up. The ear piece is shattered on the rooftop, under the boot of a snarling man.

“You think I wouldn’t notice you following me?” Quentin picks up Hawke by her jacket, hauling her up. Her feet dangle in the air, her toes barely scraping the ground. She has her hands on his wrists, fingernails digging into flesh. “You aren’t the first bounty hunter sent after me, and you won’t be the last.”

“We’ll see,” she laughs. He throws her away from him in disgust, and she goes tumbling. She’s still laughing as she draws the butterfly knife from her jacket pocket. She flips it open with practiced ease, rising to her feet as Quentin begins to circle her. The aggressor in all things, Hawke dashes forward, a grin on her face even as Quentin catches the wrist that holds the knife and buries his other fist into her face. She laughs even as her lip splits, and the blood pours from her nose, a knee finding its way to Quentin’s stomach. He lets go of her as he doubles over, backing away, and she is quick to strike.

She twirls the knife, spinning it in her hands, blade downwards as she slides it home into the meat of Quentin’s shoulder. He roars with anger as he pushes her away, one, two, three quick strikes into her belly with his fist. She wheezes, eyes wide, leaving the knife in his shoulder as she hobbles away, gasping for breath. Her hands clutch at her chest in a panic, lungs heaving, her mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“You fucking bitch,” he growls, leaving the knife where it is as he pulls the gun from its holster on his belt. He lines up the shot as Hawke is trying to remember how to breathe, his finger on the trigger. Fenris buries his knee into his back with a roar, one arm wrapped around Quentin’s neck, his other hand holding onto the knife. Quentin falls to ground, gun clattering from his hand. Hawke stumbles forward, taking it for herself.

Quentin elbows Fenris hard in the jaw, sending him flying and off of Quentin. Quentin is quick to kneel over him, lining up a punch. He screams as Hawke’s first shot finds his thigh. Fenris springs to his feet, pulling the knife from Quentin’s shoulder and burying it between ribs. Hawke’s second shot lands in his belly. Fenris pulls the knife, and stabs him again. Shot. Stab. Shot. Stab. Until Quentin finally keels over, his face still in an angry grimace, bloody fingers reaching out for Hawke.

“That went well,” she says, stumbling back to sit down, the gun falling from her hands. Fenris crawls towards her quickly, his hands on her face as he examines her. He presses his forehead against hers, and she pushes her hand against his chest.

“Ah, don’t, my face is a mess,” she complains as he chuckles, and he gives her a gentle kiss, even as she whines. “My lip! Ah! You bastard, let me go!” He wraps her into a fierce embrace, smothering her in kiss after kiss, her fists beating uselessly at his back.

* * *

Hawke sits with her arms and legs crossed, a bloody Kleenex up one of her nostrils, holding a baggie filled with ice to her lip. Fenris sits quietly beside her, the flashing red and blue lights of the police car bouncing around them. Aveline is tapping the pen to her notepad, her lips pursed and a frown lining her face. “I asked for you to tell me when you had him! This could have been a lot cleaner,” she sighs, rubbing her brows.

“Yeah, that was the plan but when do our plans ever go the way we want?” Hawke grumbles. Aveline grunts agreement at that.

“We’re confiscating the knife and the gun –”

“That’s my favorite knife!” Hawke whines as Aveline rolls her eyes.

“But now that we have your statement, you’re free to go home. You look like a mess, Hawke,” Aveline says, bending over to grab at Hawke’s jaw, twisting her face back and forth as she looks at her. Hawke swats her hand her hand away and blows a kiss at Aveline.

“Appreciate the concern mom, but I’m fine.” Aveline tilts her head towards Fenris, who shrugs.

“I’m also obligated to tell you that Varric’s arranged a party for tomorrow night. With Isabela’s help. Also buy a goddamn phone,” Aveline grumbles, before waving her hand in a goodbye and walking back to her fellow officers, standing over the body of Quentin.

The ride back to Hawke’s house is quiet, with Hawke’s head leaning against Fenris’s back, her fists wound in the front of his jacket. He sits her on the edge of the tub as he squats down, dabbing at the blood on her face with a wet cloth. She wrinkles her nose at his attentions, rapping her fingers at the edge of the tub, but allows him to do what he needs.

“You scared me,” he tells her, and her face reddens as she looks away from him.

“I had it under control!”

“Mhmm.” He wipes the last of the blood away from her nose and presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

“You have good timing, though,” she says quietly. She touches his chin, turning his jaw, brushing her fingers over the bruise already starting to blossom on the side of his face. She kneels down, both hands cupping his face now, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. He follows her lead, well aware of her split lip. She pushes him back to lean against the wall, his hands on her hips as she straddles him. His hands travel up her back, under her shirt, feeling the coolness of her skin beneath his fingers.

“Sorry for scaring you,” she whispers into his ear. “Forgive me?”

“We’ll see,” he growls, tongue finding its way into her mouth, devouring her wholly. She can feel his cock straining against his jeans underneath her, and she pulls a hand to her breast. She keeps herself steady with her hands on his shoulders, rocking slowly against the hardness underneath her. He nips at her neck, at her collarbone, rolling a nipple between his fingers, hard enough for her to feel it through her shirt. She pulls away from his ministrations to stand, a hand at her jeans, Fenris helping her tug them off. She half kicks them off as she kneels down over him again, fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

She shuffles through one of the drawers of the bathroom, ripping open the wrapper of the condom with her teeth. She draws him out, popping her thumb into her mouth and wetting it, before running it over the head of his cock, making him slick with her. She works the condom onto his length with practiced ease, her head leaning against his. She raises herself slightly, aligning her entrance with him before pressing down slowly. His hands squeeze on her hips, his head nuzzling into the soft space between her neck and shoulders. He groans when he is inside her fully, and he can feel the hands on his shoulders tighten.

She rolls her hips and begins to rock against him, and he can hear every mewling cry with clarity. His hands begin to rub her thighs, then up to her sex, to press at the tiny nub of flesh that made it ever so much harder for her to stay quiet. They move that way together, the bathroom silent and echoing only with their soft gasps, heavy breathing and the moans that spill from her.

He feels her warm walls clutch around him, and feels the hand on his shoulder squeeze and shake. She throws back her head, her back arching with it, belting out her pleasure as she comes. She falls back upon him, her arms wrapped tight around his head, and it does not take long for him after that. A few hard thrusts up into her and he is burying himself as deep as possible, pumping his release inside her. He groans into her chest, holding onto her with the same intensity as she does him.

They spoon in bed, her back against his chest, his arms tight around her. She sleeps peacefully, her mouth open, fingers twitching with her dreaming. He buries his face into her hair as he smiles, their legs tangled up together, sharing body heat. They would spend who knows how long in Kirkwall. Enough for Hawke to drink with everyone, that he could count on. Then they would be on the road again, headed to wherever they pleased. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed following her.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't flush your condoms kid, it'll fuck up your plumbing.
> 
> Ah, the biker AU fic! Thinnest of plots for smut delivery! <3  
> As always, happy to talk [at my blog](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/). Cheers! :)


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